


So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings

by Msfrancesthirteen



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Gerri has a date kinda fanfic, Post-Break Up, Roman Roy is a mess, Sort Of, Stream of Consciousness, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator, Waystar/Royco Gala, slime puppy is sad, untold truths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Msfrancesthirteen/pseuds/Msfrancesthirteen
Summary: He's watching her, from afar, and the fact she's looking so stunning in her perfect dress can't suppress the aching feeling in his chest. PGM treating her well, and the man beside her warming her bed at night. They didn't reach each other, they haven't talked. Roman, a coward. Gerri, a traitor. After a year of being together, they're strangers trapped inside a cage in the shape of a ballroom. Full of people. Full of chances. And a lot of secrets behind the broken lover's facade.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the beautiful @nomoretears24 for helping me with my English, for being my beta, for reading this piece of work, and for supporting me. Go read the Exploring series, a different take on the RomanxGerri relationship. 
> 
> Title based on the song "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings" by Caroline Polachek

.

.

.

Roman is completely conscious of being exposed to a pretty fucked up situation that can only be explained as complete physical torture. Limbs strained, clenched jaw, nails bitten way too much to be appropriate for someone like him. Sick puppy eye boy, performing a big fanfare of a pathetic self-inflicted sorrow. Hangover permanently nesting in his body, he goes every day to work as the sole COO of the company looking like a pitiful motherfucker, disheveled foul-smelling suits from the night before, the weak aroma of a potpourri of smells, attending meeting after meeting with sunglasses on, and close to nil sense of self-respect.

As his father has been on trial, no one really seemed to pay attention to anything that doesn’t affect themselves. Logan was out of the company. This is of course far from the truth; _good ol’ man_ keeps pulling the strings, eyes everywhere.

For Roman, Waystar has become a less abhorrent place, now that the school bully isn't around anymore. He wouldn't be able to get away with this behavior if Smaug would've kept guarding the gold. Logan would’ve smack it right where it hurts, physically and emotionally speaking.

Does he get the job done? Of course, he does.

To the same degree as Gregor Samsa mutating into a huge insect, Roman Roy had been metamorphosing into a less shitty version of Kendall after the failed bear hug, slash fuckfest wedding, slash let’s try to shitcan Dad in this european family trip altogether. He was well aware of the situation, a slobbery spit hitting his face. Roman McDonalds available 24/7 to please his dad, and he’s sure is lovin’ it. Feeling like a flawed forlorn stewardess, ready to go wherever they fly him; Hong Kong, London, _fucking Turkey_ if they please. _Come on_ he’d be thrilled to be a hostage again, mouthwatering for someone to put a bullet in his brain. He'll be there, no need to put up a fight; volunteering like a girl scout, cookies out to sell. Door to door rimming and sniffing white shark asses.

He has turned into a robot, willing to do anything for Waystar/Royco. A good fucking soldier for Logan to use whilst waiting for his own revival; gearing Roman up whenever a new deal popped up. Good, bad who cares? His father trusts his nose for business. Still, not enough praise will be able to wipe away the trauma in him.

There's this crippling fear imprisoning his memories. Maybe he will wake up one day, in the lousy loneliness that follows him everywhere, will walk to his dad’s, where he’ll be bombarded with apples, Marcia or Shiv pleading to his tyrant of a father to stop, while he kills the insect away in him, delighted to concentrate instead on all of their own immediate problems. Not in the weak, conflicted, grotesque son who cannot sit still, yearning for attention and love.

These are things he no longer pursues from his father. These are things he had sought elsewhere.

Attention and love that a woman outside the family gave him, a woman who left him with nothing but an empty bed, his little dick, and a whole lot of feelings palpitating in his chest. Roman was tired of running away from all of this. Sowing and growing the giant maze where he's been hiding.

The only way to get out of his own head was to be away from the city, whittling away the guilt, the sadness, and the pain. Roman knows that if he keeps working as an efficient little puppet Gerri might hear about it, and she could be proud of him. That smile tugging at her lips to reveal itself, the indistinguishable nod of approval and the arched brow when he's assertive, useful for business, using all the things she taught him, plus his instincts, to lift up what was now her rival company. Trying to be a responsible adult.

He is in fact, _trying_.

The medieval torture that his mind has been practicing with his body was not, in the least, all of a sudden. A recurrent process, effortless self-harming antics, carved in his demeanor to cope with the grief of loss. And it’s not like "I’m 17 and lost my super expensive new watch at a party with some hippies, I'll buy a new one as soon as I mourn my nonexistent dignity for a couple of hours". This time it feels different, the loss is not something, it's someone. It never happened before. Every single people in his life has been disposable. Except for her.

The martyrdom has been extending longer and longer; dealing with the weight of his useless life, constant pain in his spine. _Oh, the utter dejection!._ Dodging questions about his mental state from his siblings asking what happened to him, why he kept missing dad’s usual dinners, why he was never around, Roman just a name in the air now.

One day Shiv had even appeared at Waystar; stalked into his office, and asked him directly if something had happened between him and Gerri, because it was too _fucking_ noticeable that something changed in him when she left.

“Mommy is gone. Baby is sad” the answer came out in a jesting pout, like a child. Shiv had believed him, or at least she pretended to, and never brought it again.

Roman wonders if someone in the office had ever seen a person experience some kind of emotion before, because he’s as stealthy as a helicopter rotor blade. Walking around with an imaginary sign above his head that announced to everyone how much of a miserable bastard he is. They don’t notice unless he visually disturbed them, looking shitty as fuck. In the first weeks, he had made an effort to look just decent, almost respectable. Nowadays, he just physically can’t. All the energy that’s left is the remnants of the copious caffeine intake.

He locks himself in his office, blinds covering the windows, grey material supposed to give privacy, outlining his body shape from the outside. If he had known that before. Music blasting from his headphones, skimming through documents, highlighting inconsistencies, marking in bright red, deceiving numbers, with every single sound rumbling through his body. Roman’s work proficiency has never been better. But, there were those days of starvation, where everything that looks slightly similar to a solid meal, is off the table. He'd be locked up in his office all day, indulging in oxygen, drinking, and working. No one allowed to trespass the glass door. Music envelops him, obsessed with classical. Therapeutic shit, that helps him with his feelings, his therapist said. His body can sense the distinction between emotions though, a vague streak of sanity; Roman figures it must be working to a certain degree.

One of those days, Kendall wanted to talk. He was concerned, brought him food, and sat with him through lunch. Roman isn’t dumb. He’d seen the _big brother_ act from a mile away.

Their relationship is better now, there's a pinch of trust between them, better not to push it too far. He was considerate, not compelled to make him talk, but the constipation in his face made Roman sick. The new Waystar CEO, attempting to be his part-time therapist.

A moment before crossing the door he said unsurely, "People are worried… errr… about you" Kendall's voice is pathetic in Roman's ears. He could only scoff and retaliate, "Crowdy sentence, by people, you mean you and Shiv? Don't worry, I'm not snorting things… yet".

He remembers the little smile on his lips.

Getting his brother and sister off his ass was a customary thing to do; an act that flourishes naturally out of his body, a few insults here and there, deviating the topic a little, finally crowning it and sneaking his way out of the conversation.

Before Gerri left, he had rehearsed an entire dance to avoid her.

They talked at least once a week, with the mere purpose of reviewing work, an inevitable fate when you decide to engage in extracurricular affairs with someone from the office. Roman never looked at her eyes, their meetings consistently shortening. Delegating was a key strategy, he used his assistant so much now, compared to the little he had before. They didn't text, their emails were professionals, often with copies to Kendall and Frank. Cautious to never meet her alone, bringing in his assistant, or anyone available with him if he had to go to her office. Every single fucking time he opened his mouth to have a conversation, his throat burned, a volcano endangering her. And _oh_ she knew, he knows she did, but somehow nothing was uncomfortable for her. Work mode; refined art mastered by Geraldine Kellman.

And it made him miserable.

His hands clammy, pacing around, dragging his feet on the carpet of her office just to make her angry. He noticed in the way her gaze shot him, a machine gun piercing through the layers of clothes and skin, stripping him, scanning his body language. In his inability to read what was within her, he believed that it was the manifestation of how she wanted to yell at him, to insult his unremarkable attitudes, a barrier she wouldn’t dare cross anymore. In the past, the single thought would've made him hard.

He’s tempted to go to where she is, get on his knees, deliberately open his chest, and give her his heart. And as cheesy as that might sound, it’s not.

Professional Gerri is truly different from private Gerri. The woman who laughs with him in bed, the woman who accompanies him in the kitchen while he cooks for her, the one who shares a bath with him, joking around and sipping her favorite drink, the one who caresses his head on Sunday afternoons while reading a book in the balcony, the only one who waits for him when he was away on a business trip. She taught him how he likes to be touched, how to run a business, to understand laws and politics, to have a little empathy, and most important of all, to love. Now that woman has vanished.

Gerri doesn’t like bullshit.

She knows him, inside out. She has the power, the capacity of killing him and bringing him back to life. And now, breathing was becoming a living hell, in which he could feel the heat burning him, from the last bit of skin to the soles of his feet, his blood lighting up like methane incinerating his organs, blazing up his cells until his brain set on fire. Reducing his existence to ashes.

So _full of shit_.

Maybe, if he had loved her as much as he believes he does, he would’ve talked to her, worked this thing out weeks ago. Before she left.

Trying to find the words to talk to her again properly, to figure things out for them to have normal chit chat like the old times isn’t gonna happen, Roman is certain that they’re both not ready, even after weeks. _Several fucking weeks. Months._ That’s gonna leave a permanent stain, a bruise, an open wound where he’d cheerfully stab himself for the single pleasure of rejoicing in his pain again and again.

She didn’t deserve all the things he’d prattle on about her that night. He didn't deserve her treason.

However, he's now here in a black tuxedo watching her mingling around. One of the many special guests. PGM fucking CEO.

_Pointless fucking gala._

"Fuck, she looks so hot in that dress, I think I might be sick from just staring"

"Then stop staring, you'll look dreadful if... I mean, you already look so fucking dead, man! " Shiv laughs loudly after scanning him and drinking her champagne in one gulp.

"Yeah yeah whatever, trash me up, step on me with your heels, break my bones!! I'd really like that." Roman grimaces, looking from afar at how Gerri engages in a conversation with Karolina; some catching up to do.

He can’t believe a stupid fucking fabric is making his head spin; a black halter dress, long enough to reach the floor with a killer slit on the side, golden chains hugging her waist in a fancy belt, that he wants so desperately be tied up with. The crowded place is not helping to overcome the aching feeling restraining his chest. He loves how her bright hair looks when it’s up, exposing the soft skin of her neck where he liked to refuge. He’d love to kiss that spot that makes her moan. _Ugh._ He looks away watching how Shiv smiles at him, crammed in pity, leaning on the bar behind her.

"Look at you, all-- " She stops mid-sentence, and her face shifts into panic.

"All What? What are you looking at?" She’s staring over his shoulder, out of the blue her hands go straight to his arms keeping him in position squeezing his black suit when he attempts to look in the direction she's aiming.

"Just… Roman, look at me…” The tender silly tone in her voice bothers him “you don’t want to do that, Gerri’s--” He snaps her off, batting her hand away, and turns.

His chest hurts

He’s not even surprised at this point.

“hey, is the cockwobbler fucker _again_ ”

Roman's tone is seething with resentment and weariness. A paltry animal grunt.

Shiv knew there was a possibility that this could happen. The day Roman, unfortunately, met the guy was the same day he had shown up at her doorstep wasted drunk, and spat his guts out to her, telling everything.

_Almost two months ago now._

* * *

It was his last day in the city.

Roman was preparing for a five days trip to Hong Kong in order to revise some new proposals from the team that handled the parks. He would have to sniff a little bit, be a bloodhound and go through them to check if there's something intelligent that they could use to keep the company afloat, according to Kendall standards.

_Yadda yadda bullshit._

He finished everything early regarding his COO duties before leaving. Organizing the business so when he comes back, the fuck factory would stay the same. Some last goodbyes to her brother at lunch before he got into the elevator. He looked in the mirrored panels, rubbed the stubble on his jaw, fixed the purple tie, and neated his sleeves.

He was having a less shitty day for once; until he got to the ground floor.

The pair of legs he sees when the elevator sets him free, are familiar ground to the pad of his fingers, to his dried lips, once had his fingerprints all over them, the DNA of his saliva. The paleness of her skin is exposed, she’s not wearing stockings, even though it’s far from where he is, but he’s sure. Gerri was there, in the grey dress he loves so much, hugging a statuesque man in a suit. _Kingsman_ shit of a man.

They didn't notice him before he noticed them.

"Oh, fuck me"

His stomach flips, nausea makes his mouth watery, there's not even a bin close to where he is.

He fidgets with his phone, otherwise, he'll throw up in the lobby, a very much embarrassing scenario. A paper bag would come in handy, to calm his hyperventilation. Searching for a quick exit he turns around expecting the elevator doors to be open, just to find them closed and the elevator gone. His feet freeze, he doesn't want to go, to look, but he knows that if he stays there they will see him first and the odds won't be in his favor. Not that they were ever remotely likely to be in any situation.

His week had been better, he was doing better, finally, after what it felt like decades in agony. He settled for a routine, went back to the gym, started eating healthy again, the amount of alcohol in his veins reduced, greaseless hair, started with therapy. But life likes to bend him over the table and fuck him from every possible angle, he should be used to it by now.

Gathering some pride he continues walking towards the original path, looking at the vivid holy light coming from the glass entrance doors as if they were the final tunnel to rest in peace. God's hand offered for him in the shape of a personal driver.

Roman walks graciously with his phone in hand, ready to make an imaginary call, his feet in a hurry, expensive shoes hitting the equally expensive floor of the building, echoing in the big place where a few people walked hastening their steps in a uniform fashion. Briefcases in hand, elegant suits, Waystar seal in each person that passes by. And she sees him, among them all, he makes sure their unique eye contact is deep, showing her that he saw what was going on, an accusatory look he doesn’t have the right to give to her. His gaze shifts quickly to the man, as if they are nothing more than two people standing there together, and he happens to know and work very close to one of them.

"Good afternoon Gerri, have a great day both of you. _Bye_ " He sings the last word and even has the energy to smile a little, waving goodbye immediately, answering the phone with a big _"what up?"_ jogging his way out down the concrete stairs.

_Pathetic_

He barely hears the voice of the man, he didn't have the motivation. Polite _British accent._ Roman's ears are ringing, pulsating temple, his forehead vein must be totally visible now. The shivering in his back touches him from the bottom of his spine to the hairs on his nape. He feels hurt, incensed, infuriated.

The look on her face is going to be framed in a special corner of his mind, in that specific corner where he saved the memories of each time his father took a beat at him.

A journey of emotions etched across her face as she analyzed his presence. Startled, alarmed, perhaps a little angry. That’s what he’d seen. Was she angry at him because he caught her with her pants down? Or was she angry at her new _age-appropriate_ _lover_ for showing up at her workplace? He couldn’t decide which was more accurate from her body language. Perpetually unreadable. Roman hoped she wasn't angry at him anymore, but maybe this sketch will make her even angrier.

_The fuck, who cares._

He thought about how he has improved his acting skills. Passing by, feigning a smile, displaying an appropriate level of courtesy in a forgotten polite greeting, to proceed ignoring them, exiting the building in the black Cadillac that regularly awaits for him. Inside the car, his eyes ache and his stomach burns as if someone threw a punch at his gut.

"Sir, where are we heading?"

He's a little bit thrown by his driver's voice.

"My place"

His heart is beating loud and fast throughout the journey. Buildings, people, stores passing by, he can't stop looking out the window. On any other occasion he wouldn't be sitting still, today he's too deep in his head to command his wretched body.

_What the actual fuck?_

How little he meant to her that, just after a month or so she was already in another man’s company. Roman knows she doesn't do that, she's not a touchy-feely person.

_She's not gonna fucking go and hug a fucking stranger._

And it is well-known to him that in New York City, everything is faster than in any other place he’s been to, but it still surprises him how quickly people move on.

Tabs was gonna get married in a few months to a hot blonde bombshell as she liked to call her future wife. He hadn’t been able to meet her yet, but Tabitha made sure everyone on her feed knew she was going to marry Casey. All smiles, pictures of the ring, tropical vacations, and her tall, curvy woman by her side. Can't help but think sometimes about the small amount of time that passed after they broke up when she was already head over heels with this woman. Grace remarried, another bun in the oven for the lovely couple.

Sappy shit like, he's the guy who you date before you meet the love of your life or that kind of bullshit was pinning up in his brain. _Too many romcoms_. The weird little sick fuck who couldn’t have sex unless it felt weird, spend entire afternoons thinking no one will ever love him watching Katherine Heigl play the same role over and over again in a series of different plots, to fill the void that Gerri left in his home. Is he a Katherine Heigl character right now? He's not sure about that, too needy and pathetic.

The droll stream of thoughts blows off the threatening tears.

It never ceases to amaze him how much of an unimportant piece of shit he is in everybody's life. His dad uses him as a punching bag, his siblings think he’s not worthy in the business, and the only person he ever trusted in his whole woeful life bereft of affection, the only woman who understood him, the only person he loves, dumped him. And now she had a replacement. The cherry on top.

"Is everything okay, sir?" From the rearview mirror, his driver watches him. He’s forced to get out of his head.

"Of course it is Sigmund Freud, I don't pay you to be my therapist, I pay you to fucking drive, thank you very much."

"I'm so sorry, we are here, sir." Roman looks outside and indeed they are.

"Asshole." He mutters before slamming the car door and putting on his sunglasses.

He had never experienced what "heartbroken" was supposed to mean or feel. Roman is certain that his heart on this precise day started to crack. Well, there was the small possibility that it was the sound of the ticking clock on his wrist, or his shoes hitting the floor. Currently processing the fuckfest that is his life, sitting in the corner of an expensive club, perched on an empty couch in the VIP area, drinking from the bottle of his chosen booze, he hears how it keeps cracking below his lungs. Or maybe is the sniff of molly talking. He doesn't do drugs, but he didn't use to have sex either. Things can change.

And that aching feeling again, itching with the inability to scratch.

_How idiotic._

**Rome:** S'up sis, u up?

He’s not sure of what he's doing right now but after everything that happened today whatever hits him is fine. A car, a train, a bus, he doesn't even mind if tomorrow the plane engines stop working, fall into the sea or something, and even _that_ reminds him of Gerri. He is not opposed to being hit by the disgusted looks from his sister, the night's still young. A little slap in the face for being a creep maybe. 

**Pinkie:** yeah, why?

**Rome:** u alone?

He can barely write, directing his steps out of the VIP area.

**Pinkie:** tom's with greg

**Rome:** can I stay wit u?

He waits for a few minutes. Maybe his sister was banging someone and he was disrupting the sinful evening. His phone buzzes.

**Pinkie:** sure, you ok?

He doesn't respond, he goes to the bar to grab a bottle of scotch and leaves the place as soon as he frees himself from the sweaty bodies that grab him urging Roman to come with them, fake friends, sexual zombies begging for what he can’t give them. Craving his pockets full of money.

"What the fuck, Rome?!"

Shiv shouts loudly as she opens the door and he can hardly stand at this point, the bottle still in his hand unopened. A tinge of decency. Shiv urges him in, grabbing his arm, slamming the door behind. Maybe she didn't slam the door, but it sure felt that way in his head.

"What happened? Why’re you like this?"

Her voice is overbearing, she's demanding, examining his wobbly walk. Roman leaves the bottle on the coffee table and throws himself on the carpet where Mondale looks at him joyfully. His sister has this demeanor, the one she gave to Kendall one of the times he overdosed, her sight beholding him in worry, frowning.

"Dogs are just better than cats." Roman pets Mondale and Shiv understand she's not getting any information until _he_ wants to talk. On behalf of the situation, she sits on the couch and pours herself three fingers of whiskey.

"Weren't you supposed to be on a plane right now?."

"You didn't know? The plane crashed and I died." She's starting to lose her patience, he can sense it, and he doesn't want to be thrown out in the cold, the city is freezing. "Tomorrow. I didn't cockblock you, did I?" Shiv's expression changes as she chuckles, the air is lighter, he sits with his back against the couch like the lapdog he is.

"No, I was actually working."

"Working while your husband is away with his mistress." She mindlessly shrugs "it's evident they're fucking. Are you playing the helpless wife?"

"I don't care. If he's busy I can do whatever the fuck I want, quid pro quo? He gets to screw Greg, or whatever the fuck they do, and I get to be peacefully alone or with whoever I want... casually." She empties her glass and refills it. Her mouth says a lot but her eyes are wounded, finding a place to look at, settling on the wide windows, where the snow has started to fall. She's not even away and her husband prefers to be with his lover. Silence takes over for a few minutes, Roman has stopped drinking, and Mondale's head is now resting on one of his thighs.

"I'm gonna say something, and it's going to bother me 'til the day I die, so savour it, lick it and fuck it like one of those middle eastern guys you like, because we are not going to talk about this again." Shiv is now intrigued, her brows furrow, her glass comes to rest against the wood of the side table. Roman knows she will want to talk about this for the rest of the week, month, year.

"You were right."

It takes her a minute to catch on with what he's trying to say. But it hits her.

" _Fuck_ , I knew it."

"Do you want a new badge, Siobhan? 'Cause I can give you one for trying"

"Not now, I'm processing."

"Don't hurt your little red-head, she dumped me." The line that forms in his lips is sour, he takes Shiv's glass and swallows in one motion.

"That's supposed to explain everything?! Bullshit." Shiv looks at him from head to toe while remembering in her head what's been happening the last few weeks. The temperature is barely warm inside the room but his insides are stirring with chimerical fire, a knot of anxiety clasping his stomach.

"And by everything you mean…"

"You! a sad fucking clown." She points at him but he's just petting Mondale's head avoiding her eyes, she’s not sure if she should laugh to mock him, break the tension. Roman being serious scares her.

Roman nods affirmatively, his face is gloomy, his eyes red. He hasn't cried, ever since everything happened. It feels like if he dares to open that door, he won't be able to close it afterwards. That he will cry and cry, releasing all the fucked up stuff that's sealed within him until he dries out like the desert.

His chest feels oppressed, he has to catch a breath if he wants to let everything out of his system. His hands tremble, his short nails trying to dig inside each palm. He's anxious, perceiving what's on his way. Roman swallows his own bitter saliva before starting to talk.

"Today I saw her, with this… asshole who must be something, you know, _something_." His voice wavers in the last few syllables as his hands move aimlessly, a sting in both his eyes "In the fucking place where I work, I mean, she had like a thousand fucking places to go, but no, she decided that it was a perfect idea. Let's drive over the dead rat." Shiv observes his throat going up and down gulping, again and again, his hands constrict, Roman's about to cry, his voice quavers and she’s not sure she's prepared for tonight's sleepover confessions. There’s something in him that's not been there before, a wrecked man with tangible emotions.

Siobhan Roy is not a woman who can hold someone through a storm, the one who eases you to be better and gives you pep talks when you're down. She will never be like that. She's her father's daughter, and that must perfectly explain it all. The uncertainty of the outlook forecast disaster and she cannot even handle her own Shakespearean tragedy.

Roman goes through the whole story. He stops more times than they can count in one hand. Telling her what happened since the management training program, how that lead to phone sex, then to a partnership that suddenly changed into a relationship where he stayed at her apartment, her at his, where they started to leave things at each other’s places. He breaths, in and out, sometimes he rakes his fingers through his hair scratching the scalp, unquiet. Told her about the dates, about their weekends away, about the way they worked, about how he is _so fucking in love with her,_ that it’s affecting his body, how he had never felt this way with anybody and doesn’t understand how to stop it. Shiv listens when he talks about the breakup. Roman shuts about the engagement, and about their anniversary.

"She's such a fucking bitch"

"Don't say that." Roman voice is a stifled sound.

"And what do you expect me to say. To congratulate her to fuck my brother and then leave him unable to function? Well then, I congratulate her. What a good fucking godmother, Christ!."

Shiv gets up trying to process everything at once, pacing around the living room, but it's too much even for her. And it's not the fact that they were a solid couple right in front of everyone's eyes, it is the fact that his brother is broken. He's shattered. He is not that Roy, Kendall is _that_ Roy, Kendall is the one who's in touch with his emotions and fucks things up because of it. Roman is just her weird little brother that enjoyed being inside a cage.

A fictitious slap in the face tells her to get a hold of herself. Not having a clue on how to wield it. Perhaps, she doesn't know how to deal with anything regarding others.

"It's not entirely like that and you know it, I'm not a saint, Siobhan."

"The fuck you are not, but she isn't either. Stop defending her." Shiv's drunk, irritated, she might be digging a hole under her feet, walking in circles over and over again clearly annoyed and disgusted "How dare she? Dad opens the doors to our house, our family to her, and she decides to fuck around with you. Do you realize how many fucking years are between you and her? Is this another fantasy of yours? She's the fucking adult here. Oh my god, Rome, if she was capable of doing this I can't imagine what she could do to our company"

Roman had pictured this in his head once, in the middle of insomnia while Gerri was sleeping in his chest breathing softly. He had imagined that the first one to know was going to be his sister. The self-righteous little bitch who liked to pry on everyone's business, inheriting the paranoiac disease of Logan. He had pictured this before in a peculiar scenario, where he'd be caught, he even imagined the whole speech. Shiv would tell him that it was gross, that he was a freak, that Gerri was more like a mom to them than their own mother, that she's her godmother, that he's crossing the boundaries of appropriateness. Roman envisioned that she'll insult him, that she wouldn’t understand him. But in the end, in this fantasy, she'd have his back.

In reality, Siobhan Roy had to make everything about the company. Roman couldn't stop feeling undermined. For normal people family comes first, but for the Roys money is substantial, the only language they’ve learned to talk, money is what keeps them together, _or apart_. Depending on whom you look at.

One time, he and Gerri were away on a beach in Hawaii, sitting on a daybed on the terrace, middle of the night, her back against his chest, his arms holding her, capturing her whole frame with his body, as his legs hugged her sides. He remembers the breeze of the night, her hair smelling like coconut shampoo, the sounds of the sea, and her soft kisses along his forearms, having a deep conversation. That night Gerri told him that if Waystar/Royco didn't exist they probably wouldn't have anything to converse about as a family. She had been around long enough to figure out how Logan had poisoned each one of them, and now finding the antidote by themselves was gonna be a hard path, to seek recovery from the trauma. He had asked her if she was going to stay with the poisonous boyfriend she had, if she was afraid of being contaminated by him. Gerri responded that she was irrevocably intoxicated.

_For fucks sake_

"Siobhan, we are both adults, we knew what we were doing, don't treat me like a child, I think that's enough. I didn't come here for that." He manages to stand up. Giving Waystar a worth inside this conversation was not going to happen.

"How is this enough? She can fuck us over anytime Rome. She fucked you over, didn’t she? You wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for her. Fucking cunt."

"Shiv that's enough"

"I will talk to dad, I want her out--"

" _Shut. The. Fuck. Up._ You don't know what you're talking about. Shut the fuck up!!" He shouts at the top of his lungs the last few syllables.

There's silence in the room. Agitated breathing can only be heard. Roman strides to open the door from the balcony. He is having trouble with his lungs, they don't seem to work. He catches the cold air that hits his face, sobering him up, his nose is red, and he's ready again to face the plight.

"Why do you always do this?" Roman's voice breaks "You all. This is why we're all so fucked up!" She stares in silence at how he looks at her, injurious. "Do you think you’re really good? Because I can see you are just as damaged as me. Now that I understand what this shit of a feeling means. I can see that you can't even talk about Tom. You can't bear the fact that he chooses him over you when you thought you had him under your control, your own little male wife. That's not love, Siobhan. It's time that you learn that's not it. Why the fuck am I being the reasonable one here?" The hurting laugh hits the walls.

It wounds her, the words, the veracity of each phoneme echoing. Shiv doesn't know if it's the alcohol or what but she has this giant lump in her throat. She's about to cry when he cries first. Tears streaming down his face, an everlasting torrent of water.

"Not everything is about the company. I feel Shiv, you feel, and it is time to accept it." She's crying shamefully attempting to hide her reddened face, but she can't look away. "We are gonna do this tonight. Tomorrow we can forget this happened and we will be the same horrible people we've always been." Roman closes the doors and goes back to the couch, this time he sat and Shiv followed him immediately.

She hugs him. Tight. He cries on her shoulder, hides in the crook of her covered neck, she cries too, he doesn't say anything, just wants to be held.

He feels in the middle of the sea. Drowning, gorging in saltwater, he wants to vomit. Spiraling in his grief doesn’t feel good but his body relaxes as he shakes, his eyes hurt from the violent tears welling up, the red trace in his cheeks due to the saline fluid. Aware of not experiencing this before, a part of his mind unstrings, giving him a sense of normality that's new. And he wants normality so bad, that everyone must know that he is dying to be like everybody else, claiming otherwise to the public. The aftermath isn't gonna be pretty, his head throbs heavily, his eyes swollen and he's sure he'll puke on his sister if she doesn't stop grasping so hard.

They are like that for a while, until he pulls his tears to a halt. They both know they have to address what’s going on, what happened. They've never done anything like this before together, it was always behind closed doors with their respective shrinks. She wishes Kendall was here too. Fucking bonding time, out of the uncanny breakup, the first time Roman was feeling something other than despair, horniness, and hatred.

* * *

Anger seizes him into going in the same direction the happy couple is going. Vigilant eyes.

He doesn’t, Roman won’t put up a show about that, he’d play it cool like he always does, sidestepping any surprising disclosure of information.

He watches her, keeping the agonizing distance, as an unspoken rule he made up to protect himself from the humiliation he feels when Gerri’s near. This also has to do with the provocative perfume of her skin, Roman swears he’d faint the next time he smells at least a minuscule portion of her body, spurred by the tarrying feelings deep inside of him. There is no point in beating his chest, but he’s at it again, going into a sulk, like the spoiled brat he is.

“Hey Roman.” Shiv grabs his jaw forcing him to look at her “Stop this nonsense.” She’s showing her concern staring directly into his eyes burdened in mercy, a feeling he thought his sister was not able to experience, among other emotions. His teeth grit and he’s frowning mad now, freeing himself from the manicured fingers strongly gripping his chin.

“I will stop when I want to stop Siobhan, why don’t you go and enjoy the benefits of an ‘open marriage’ on this lovely night.” Roman spit the words with the intention to mock and hurt her, but she chuckles, her fingers fixing her short disheveled hair.

The post-Christmas gala’s being hosted in one of the Roy states, Kendall was trying too hard to prove that he was nothing like Logan throwing a big boisterous party. _How original_. The best food, best booze, best views, plus-ones included. The quality of the attendants met the party standards, impossible to gauge the economic impact of each of them in Waystar’s stock market. Roman scanned the room the moment he passed the big french doors to the salon. The giant marble columns surrounding the place left a hallway between them and the windows perfectly decorated with little firefly lights. Like a fucking sixteen-year-old girl bedroom. 

The thickness of each column allowed people to easily hide if no one was looking from the outside, blindspots to make out, long curtains to mask people’s earthly desires. He wishes they used the manor before when he still had someone to make out with. The green backyard, the fountains, and the pool in the distance were dimly illuminated, desolated in its beauty. He wished he had proposed there.

Approached by his sister he hasn’t had the time to go outside and escape, he’s not exactly needed in the room. The bar becomes their comfort space since she dragged him by the arm. Roman knows he’s been passed as a tennis ball for a while now. First Kendall and his dad, then Shiv and Kendall, Tabitha and Shiv, like he’s a porcelain doll. Fragile, scaring everyone, on the verge of breaking.

“Believe it or not I care about you, and it is hard to look at this walking dead dude pretending he’s cool and not about to throw himself from the rooftop at any given moment.” Roman notices how her face changes into that aching, apologetic Mother Theresa’s expression. His nose wrinkles in disgust, the suit feels tighter, there’s a hole in his stomach, probably from the lack of sustenance.

“I hate your face.” Eyes watering in frustration, he can't get a hold of himself, must be hereditary. Shiv’s pulls him into an awkward hug while everyone seems to ignore them and vice versa.

He doesn’t like to look at the mirror lately, does everyone notice how miserable he is now? Shiv had told him that their father did. Logan didn’t mind, as long as he doesn’t know what was the reason for the recently acquired puppet that is his son, there’s nothing that can be expected. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Around them, people are chatting, drinking, dancing, flaunting their happiness _or drunkenness_ in his face, sneering their emotional superiority at him. He notices that Tom isn’t around Shiv today, he got lost long ago and for Roman, it seems like she didn’t have the intention to find him any time soon.

_Why did she marry the guy anyways?_

_Weren’t you supposed to love the person whom you are with?_

Like he loves Gerri.

“I still can’t believe you are in love with my dear godmother” It comes out as a jesting whisper to his ear, as a secret nobody needs to hear, a sacred bond no one has to touch and contaminate. A secret his sister was willing to withhold for him as the only sign of loyalty throughout these years. Her intentions were unknown, maybe she’d use the information in the future against him, but Roman didn’t care anymore, he stopped caring a month ago.

He plays with his own fingers holding his breath counting the seconds for the hug to be over. “You two should talk.” His body stiffens and draws from the touch, catching his breath again.

“And tell her what exactly? Gerri, sorry for being a fucking asshole, what Shiv? Are you fucking for real? You really think she’s going to talk to me again?.” It comes out of his mouth with raged sadness in a slight high pitched tone that breaks at the end.

Roman knew she was more than willing to talk before, he just doesn’t know if after all this time and the presence of _the slick motherfucker_ in her life had changed the way she feels about him. And it embarrasses him, the thought of losing the only opportunity he might have.

Roman did his homework, he knows that Gerri asked people about him. But the real question was, had she stopped looking out for him? Asking how he was doing, would she stop staring the way she does? To try to unwrap all the dark and dirty thoughts in his head. What did he mean for her now? Is she in a new relationship with the tall swell British guy who was now attached to her hip? Or was he just a rebound to forget about him?

“I can hear the gears moving inside your head.”

“Fuck you.” Shiv laughs and punches him in the shoulder.

“Come on, Rome! Go talk to her.”

“Cut the bullshit, Pinkie.”

“Fuck you. And change my name on your phone, seriously." Shiv grunts in annoyance as she pokes his fancy clothed shoulder, grabs her phone, another glass of champagne. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” She disappears from Roman’s sight, mingling with other people on the dance floor.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean!!” he yells startling the people passing by but can’t see where his sister got lost.

The crowd moves around, and suddenly his eyes are meeting her blue ones, looking at each other from across the room. 

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, but oh boy! the English degree must be working.
> 
> Thank you for reading. There's a lot to unravel.


End file.
